Firelight and Snow Flurries
by A. of Arcadia
Summary: (No longer a one-shot.) First chapter focuses on a fictional orphanage where two boys meet and fall in love. Second chapter brings you through the re-discovery of that special relationship.
1. Thanksgiving Past

A/N: A sweet little piece of fluff written because I'm in a strangely good mood. Also, On Angel's Wings (you know, the Christmas episode) came on the other day, and it had me wondering about holidays. Eventually, this was born. And yeah, I know none of it's true, but thus the "fiction" in "fanfiction". Warnings for slash, but come on, this is so sweet even homophobes would go, "Awww!"

Disclaimer: Don't own anything except the crap written after my name.

**Firelight and Snow Flurries**

**by**** Aloren Neranth**

I met the love of my life when I was twelve years old. It was at St. Anne's Orphanage, around mid-November. I could tell he'd never celebrated Thanksgiving before, what with the confused glances he gave the nuns putting up the festive paper turkeys. As Sister Sophia Louise taped a plastic cornucopia to the middle of the cracked, browned wall, he sniffed, tightened an arm around a beaten-up old frog plushie, and tugged at her black skirts. "Yes, Pietro?" she asked as she turned around, wrinkles crinkling under her eyes as she smiled.

"SisterSophiaLouise," he said in that rapid-fire way of speaking that I grew to understand and love. "What's that?" The kid pointed a long, slim finger towards the decoration plastered to the wall. "It looks like those things old deaf guys shove in their ears so they can hear stuff."

The nun stared at him in mild shock. What kind of ten year old knew of old hearing aid methods? Little did they know how far advanced he was, and how much he'd learned in his short years. The only thing that seemed to hold him back was his tiny body. "That's a cornucopia, love. It's a symbol of Thanksgiving."

"What's Thanksgiving?"

"It's the time of the year we give thanks to God for all the blessings in our lives," the old lady responded merrily. The boy looked around quickly, as if expecting to get a hoard of presents.

"But I don't have anything. 'Cept for Monnie!" he exclaimed, shoving his stuffed frog up with his thin, pale arms.

"Well then, be thankful for him and all your other friends." The black-cloaked nun practically floated away after patting him on the head, leaving Pietro alone in the middle of the room. He looked down at his frog and sighed. 

"Monnie's my only friend," I heard him say sadly. That's when I decided to approach him for the very first time. I'd seen him before, of course, when he was first admitted into St. Anne's. But to be honest, I was always afraid of meeting him. 

Because he was everything I was not. He was light, I was dark. He was soft and gentle, whereas I took pleasure in terrorizing the sisters. He was smart, while I… well, I was no genius. But Pietro had always seemed so happy and above the other children, off in his own little world that no one could reach. Maybe that's why he didn't have any friends. But, after seeing the poor kid finally look utterly vulnerable and lonely, I decided to change all of that.

"Hey, kid!" I yelled, catching his attention, along with his wide blue eyes. Not my smoothest approach, but effective nonetheless. "So, uh… this'll be your first Thanksgiving?"

"Mmhm," he said with an exuberant, lightning-quick series of nods. "'Cept I don't have anything to be thankful for." That sad look melted over his face again like hot candle wax. I immediately attempted to wash it off.

"Hey, don't worry! I've got nothing either. But, hey, uh… if you really want to, uh… we can be thankful for each other!" I felt my cheeks heat up at such a silly, weak suggestion. I knew for sure that he'd call me an idiot and leave.

But he didn't leave, or insult me. Instead, he let out an almost symphonic chord of giggles. It sounded like bells from snowy white sleds gliding along the bitter December mornings. I felt my fears slide away at the charming sound, and a silly smile cross my face. "But," he said after he calmed down a bit. I saw glittering blue eyes peeking at me from under black eyelashes, and immediately felt like someone had dropped me next to the fire. "I don't even know your name."

"Fire—Ah! I mean, uh…" I was blushing again, and it was aggravating me; but not so much, because I could tell it amused him. "M-My name is Dom… Dom Petros."

"Hi, Dom," he giggled quietly. "I'm Pietro Maximoff." I fought the urge to say that I already knew his name, but it didn't last long. Because you see, instead of shaking hands like little boys did after meeting, the white-haired kid… hugged me. After saying his last name, he slid his arms around my waist and squeezed my middle, the little worn frog dangling down the backs of my legs. And he did it like it was the most natural thing in the world. I was too shocked to hug back. Fortunately, he didn't seem bothered by this. After letting me go, he grinned and grabbed my hand. "Since you're apparently taken by the fireplace, let's go sit by it, okay?" Before I could answer, he was dragging me away into the warmest room in the orphanage.

*****

I never forgot the look of his face, firelight illuminating his features and making him glow like a tiny little star. I never forgot watching him dance in the falling snow like a pixie. And I never forgot the times he'd grab my hand and pull me off on some new adventure, or snuggle up to my side when he needed to be touched. Even though I was only twelve, I knew what falling in love was. But was it possible at this age, especially when the fiber of my heart was a mere ten years old? At the time, it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world. And to this day, I still don't question it.

*****

"Lucy, what are you thankful for?" Sister Clarice Remora asked in her talking-to-children voice. She was the Headwoman here, and everyone knew she could be quite mean and strict when bothered. But holidays always seemed to brighten her spirits, and everyone liked her only because of this fact. 

"I'm thankful fooor… Brittany and Robby and for my future mommy and daddy!" the five-year-old exclaimed, making everyone chuckle a bit. Lucy was the prettiest little girl at St. Anne's. Everyone knew she was going to be taken away to a new home very soon.

"Very good, dear," the Headwoman said, looking towards Robby, the eight-year-old terror of the group who, unfortunately for the nuns, liked to bite when he was scolded.

"Lucy and Brittany and Terrance and… and… uhmmm… and God loving me?" the boy replied, giving the table a crooked grin. The nuns looked very pleased at this answer. I just rolled my eyes. It went on this way for a while, each kid speaking when their names were called. Most of it was the same stuff over and over again; friends, the future, and God. When I was called, I said what I had thought about for a long time the night before.

"Pietro, fireplaces, and snow." No one, not even my silver-haired best friend, understood what the last two meant. But I knew what it was, and I was more thankful for those things than any of those children could be over dreams and illusions of omnipotent love. After I declined the offer to explain, the Headwoman Clarice Remora shook her, smiled, and called on the slender boy sitting next to me.

Pietro's face lit up with obvious excitement. He was so excited, in fact, he said his bit too fast for anyone to understand. Realizing no one caught it, he tried again, slowly (for him) this time. "I'm thankful for Dom, 'cause he's my best friend. I love him, because he plays with me, and talks to me, and makes me feel very happy. When we grow up, I'm going to marry him, and be his wife!" He ended with a giddy giggle and a pink blush grazing his cheeks.

For a while, no one spoke. The nuns stared at him in shock. So did I. Hell, so did most of the room. Pietro didn't seem to notice though, he was so happy to finally exclaim to the house that he had a best friend who he loved more than anything. Slowly, some of the older kids began to snicker. As if catching on to the fact that Pietro had said something "naughty", the younger kids giggled as well. Eventually, the entire table, except for the nuns, broke out into laughter. Pietro, thinking it was because they were happy for him, joined in, unleashing his peel of enchanting giggles.

"That's enough," Sister Clarice Remora said tersely. Immediately, the entire table went silent. "Pietro, Dominic, I'd like to speak to you both after dinner, understand?" We both nodded, a little afraid of what that meant. "Good. Now… Sierra, what are you thankful for?"

*****

"That was the best Thanksgiving!" Pietro declared happily, grabbing my hand. I stared at him in blank surprise.

"What do you mean? We just got yelled at for a half-hour by the Headwoman. She's going to be watching us now for the rest of our lives!" 

"Silly Dom, of course she won't. It'll be okay. And it was a good Thanksgiving, because I got to tell everyone how much I love you! It's not a secret anymore," he said happily, swinging our arms and humming. I sighed dramatically and squeezed his pale hand. There was no sense in ruining his good mood, especially for something as stupid as closed-minded old ladies and their rules.

*****

The day he was adopted was the saddest I've ever been through. I knew it would come some day… after all, he was the most vibrant, brilliant, beautiful child at St. Anne's. And he deserved a loving family. But still, I always prayed in the back of my mind that he wouldn't be taken from me.

He was.

The day of his adoption, I held him in front of everyone; I held him, rubbed his back, and kissed his forehead. I just wanted him to stop crying, even though I was bawling like a baby as well. In the end, it was him who actually calmed me down. "I'll find you again," he promised, whispering it in my ear so no one else could hear it. It was our promise alone. "I'll find you again, Dom."

As the car rolled away, his little torso appeared from the rolled-down window. "I love you, Dom!" he screamed as the sedan slowly drove down the ice-slick road. "I always will!"

"I love you too, Pietro!" I wept, but not nearly loud enough for him to hear. Still, he must have seen me, or heard my heart, because he smiled, blew a kiss, and waved. As I watched him disappear into the midday sunlight, I felt my heart break like porcelain slammed into the cement. I remember running to my room, and crying for hours until I finally fell into an exhausted sleep. But even then, all my dreams were of him, sitting by the fire or twirling through the snow flurries.

I'm not surprised that he doesn't remember me. After all, back at St. Anne's, my hair was short and my clothes weren't so dirty. And my name was Dominic Petros there. So of course I don't blame him for not recognizing me. These days, my hair's long, my jeans are ripped, and my name is Lance Alvers.

Still, sometimes when we hold hands, I see him looking at me curiously, the same light in those blue eyes that was there those long years ago.

I think he knows.

*****

Reviews welcomed. ^_^


	2. Christmas Present

Author's Notes: Surprise! Just in time for the holidays, the second and last chapter of Firelight and Snow Flurries. It was completely unplanned; I had ideas for my holiday fic but none had a climax. And then someone commented and said I should make another chapter in the present and everything slammed together and formed so… here it is. I think it fills the gaps left by the first chapter and completes everything. I hope you enjoy it. It isn't often I'm as proud of my work as I am with this.

(And to the person who asked, no, this fic ISN'T based on the comics. The only comic element is Lance's old name. It was changed when he was adopted. ^_^)

Disclaimer: Don't own anything except the crap written after my name.

**Firelight and Snow Flurries**

**by**** Aloren Neranth**

I hate Christmas.

No, wait, let me rephrase that, just to be politically correct and all.

**I hate the holidays.**

I hate everything about it. I hate the cheer, the overpriced crap in shiny paper (though the paper itself can be fun), the music, and the false "peace on Earth" motto that everyone pretends to follow. And I hate the memories most of all. I hate thinking back all those years ago, at that damn orphanage… It's not the orphanage itself that makes me hate this season so much though; it's the fact that I was stolen from it around this time. 

Stolen from him.

I remember his tears dripping through my hair, and his kisses on my forehead. I remember how he tried to rub my back and calm me, even as every child and nun in the place watched us in silence. I remember my new parents looking uncomfortably back and forth between each other, and then at us, the two little boys who dared to openly show love to each other. Yes, he was my first love. I cherished every single moment I spent with you, Dominic, until I was taken away.

Why couldn't I have stayed there with you instead?

"Good morning," his soft voice flutters down to me like sunlight filtering through drawn blinds. My eyelids flicker closed for a moment as I flip over and sigh. I don't want anyone to see me right now, especially him. I must look like crap. "I was worried about you. You were crying in your sleep." Light kisses are placed on my eyelids, soft and gentle, a loving pressure against my cerulean blues.

"I had a bad dream," I whisper, my eyes opening to take in the vision of him. He's always so breathtaking, especially in the morning when the sun dances through the tree branches outside, making a lightshow on his bare chest. His chocolate brown hair, messy from sleep, twists around his neck and over his shoulders like broken violin strings. I immediately reach out to straighten it, anal as I am. My pale arms extend into the air, and I'm momentarily shocked at how cold everything is. But it's so warm under these blankets with him. "I don't want to talk about it." I give his hair one last swipe before he leans in to kiss me.

Normally I'd kiss back, especially in the morning when our libidos are highest. But it's only half-hearted today. My mind and heart is with the little boy left at St. Anne's, crying for me and wishing I were back in his arms. It hurts to be taken away from the one you love most, and shacking up with someone else certainly doesn't help it. I feel guilty around this time of the year. When I'm gazing into his eyes, I'm actually seeing the eyes of the one I left. I often imagine what Dominic would look like grown up, and to my surprise it's not far from how Lance looks. I once had a suspicion that Lance was the boy from my past, but that's really not very logical, is it? That boy was Dominic Petros, not Lance Alvers. They're just two different people, both strikingly similar, both the loves of my life; but it still makes me feel guilty.

After all, I promised Dom I'd find him again. Instead I'm tying myself to Lance.

This is what I think about around this time of the year. This is why I hate the holiday season, and why I find myself sad, lonely, and a little crabby. And yet none of this seems to kindle to my Lance, I realize as I watch him climb from bed, naked, and pad across the room. He doesn't seem to notice at all. Annoyance pierces my temples then, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from yelling at him. How _dare_ he not notice my pain.

"Stop touching Monnie," I grumble sharply at him. Every morning he crawls out of bed and pets my old frog plush, sitting there happily on the rotting dresser. "And bring him here." Lance levels a gaze towards me and begins to smile softly, as if we shared some sort of secret at that moment. Again, I'm annoyed by his actions, and snap, "NOW." He begins to chuckle quietly, then picks up my frog and tosses it over to me.

"I'll be downstairs making a fire," he says after putting on the pair of pants that he had thrown off so quickly last night. Like a shadow caught by a sudden burst of flame, he retreats from the room silently. Trapped in his oblivious wake, I shudder a sigh and clutch the old frog to my chest. Its formerly plush material, worn over in time, feels good against my heated skin. And I lose myself once again in my memories.

*****

"Oh, you must love Christmas!" the cashier's annoying voice rips through my eardrums. I look up from my wallet and stare at her for a moment. "I said, 'you must love Christmas!'" she repeated as if I hadn't heard her the first time. A smile, bordered by painted pink lips, broadens on her face. She obviously wants to me ask why.

I had been too distracted by counting my money and trying to block out the noises of the mall to pay attention to her. There is some woman clutching a wailing baby behind me, making my head throb. But worst of all, closer to me, a woman is clutching the hand of her son, who looks about twelve. I'm trying so hard not to see myself again, ten years old, falling into Dominic's embrace. And now she's glaring at me like she would at a child molester, because she caught me staring at her son for too long. My gaze settles back on the still-grinning cashier, and finally I sigh, "Why must I love Christmas?"

"You look like a Christmas angel," she answers, counting my bills with trained hands. I'm momentarily distracted by her unnaturally long nails; they're so obviously fake. Why do people wear crap like that? "I mean, with your white hair and blue eyes. Beautiful. You fit right into winter. You must love this time of the year."

"Actually, no," I hear myself snap bitingly, though I don't know where the response had come from. It doesn't make much sense; she compliments me, and yet now I'm angry and annoyed. "I hate this time of the year. I hate the damn music you're playing over the speakers right now, I hate that stupid Santa by the food court, I hate this woman and her child," I growled, waving back at the little boy. A part of me enjoys the gasp the mother produces, and the motion she takes to pull her son away from me. "And most of all, I hate happy, jolly fuckers like you who assume everyone's happy that it's Christmas. Well, bitch, I'm not, so kindly just count my money, give me my jacket, and let me go. It's not that damn difficult."

The cashier gawked at me for a few moments then, her pink mouth gaping. I suppressed the urge to reach over, grab the bag, and just run out of the store. "I-I'm sorry, sir," she stammered, obviously upset by my scolding. "I was out of place. I'm sorry. Here's your change, $7.50, please come again, and enjoy your holi—" She stopped herself by biting her lip and grimacing. With a snarl and a lightning-fast snatch, I rip the bag from her hands and hurry away.

_Well, the worst part of the holiday is over,_ I think with my last drop of optimism. The shopping's over now, even though I only bought one present. No one really cares if their gift was stolen or not, as long as they still get something. That's why everyone got pilfered goods this year – all except for Lance. For some reason I can't consider the thought of giving him something that I didn't buy with my own money. So instead I went and pick-pocketed wallets until I had enough for his new, pricey leather jacket.

What? It's mine once it leaves the wallet, and pick-pocketing is hard work. It's all fair.

*****

"Hey, cool, new sneaks! Thanks, Pietro!" Todd exclaims, obviously happy with his shoes. He displays them proudly for all to see, and the other guys laugh and pat his back. "Man, Pietro gives the best presents, yo."

"… I agree," I hear Lance gasp as he lifts the lid off of his box and traces a hand across the soft, black leather of his new jacket. For a moment he just strokes it gently, as if he's entranced with the feel of the material under his fingertips. Then he raises it out of its box, stares at it for a minute, and then leaves it on the floor. He crosses the space between us on all fours quickly, and catches my lips under his. "Thank you so much," he breathes as our mouths slowly part. "It's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever given me." He doesn't ask how I got it, or if I stole it. He just accepts it.

But my heart isn't in this. Yes, I'm happy everyone enjoyed their presents, and the ones I received were pretty good too. But something's distracting me behind Lance, something quick and orange. The fireplace is stacked and burning, fixing me with its dance. I'm back at St. Anne's again, lying deeply into Dominic's strong arms, watching the flames waltz to their silent music with him. His hand used to trace my face when we'd sit and watch the fire, but only when no one else was in the room. I remember how he used to stare down at me, as if I were a priceless painting in a museum. But there was so much love in those brown eyes. There was always such happiness.

"Aren't you going to ask what I got you?" Lance asks, slowly snapping me from my memories. God, I wanted to stay…

"What?" I bite back, annoyed at him for once again coming between Dominic and myself. I hadn't noticed that I didn't open his gift yet. But a quick scan of the room shows that there are no more wrapped boxes. "… What did you get me?" I ask, genuinely curious now.

"It's a surprise. Get up and put on a coat, I'll take you there now," he says, excitement and mystery lurking under that dark skin. Though I wish I could just stay home instead, something is making me stand. It's his face. His expression reminds me so much of Dominic's, it brings tears to my eyes. I miss him so much…

*****

Twenty minutes later, we're in the park. Lance's Jeep sits in the empty lot, and we're alone here; because who the hell is out on Christmas Eve? Besides two queer boys walking hand-in-hand, no one. _Is this his present? A walk in the park? I think to myself, numb with more than just the cold. I honestly don't care what he gives me right now. Unless it's an engagement ring or something; that would certainly get my attention._

"Isn't this beautiful, Pietro?" Lance asks me, his head twisting around to take in the scenery, a content smile on his face. Indeed, when I finally look, it is beautiful. There are bright white lights strung through the old oak trees, making the snowy ground flicker like diamonds encased in mounds of white gold. Red ribbons are tied on cement poles, each adorned with little glossy bells. Some of the trees are still bushy and full, their forest-green arms bent under packages of crystallized white powder. Somehow, the brightness sends me into a small drift of awe. My mouth runs dry and I can't speak.

But Lance is still leading me down the shoveled path. His pace is brisk, even though his head is spinning like an owl's in order to take in every detail of the night. "The only thing that could possibly make this night more beautiful is the stars," he comments suddenly, tilting his head back. He studies the sky with a frown, then remarks, "Too cloudy. No stars tonight. Maybe it'll snow."

"Wonderful, we'll be buried alive," I reply sarcastically, listening to myself half-heartedly. I don't care anymore. If I'm ruining his holiday, or his plans, or his spirit… I just don't care. I know it sounds selfish, but I can't help it. This is the way I've "celebrated" ever since that winter years ago, and I'll do it until I find him again. I swore I'd find him again.

Swallowing down the painful lump in my throat, I drop Lance's hand and wince as it thumps at his side. His pace stops and he turns to look at me with what I can only imagine is concern. I don't know because I'm not looking at him anymore. I'm glaring at a random pile of snow now, as if it were the cause of these troubles. Its glitter seems to laugh at me, as if all the stars from the sky had dropped to earth just to mock my loneliness. _So bitter, so alone, they laugh at me with flickering eyes, _poor sweet little Pietro. __

"I want to go home," I demand suddenly, crossing my arms at my chest, my breath coming in clouds in front of my face. "It's cold and I don't feel like walking anymore."

"But I need to give you my present…" Lance replies, hurt evident in his voice. I can tell he was looking forward to this, but I don't care. God, why couldn't I have been adopted in springtime, when it is warm and less festive? "Please just wait a few more minutes, Pietro. I can give it to you here."

"Fine, whatever. I don't see why you couldn't have given it to me at the house," I sigh, shaking my head and moving my hands down to my hips. 

Lance shrugged his broad shoulders, a wry grin flittering to his face. "Call me a sentimental romantic, I guess." Suddenly, he's inches away from me, his gloved hands capturing mine softly. He's trying to catch my eyes as well, I know, and finally I look up and give them to him. He smiles in gratitude, then moves down to kiss the tip of my nose, which I can only assume is red in the cold, right along with my cheeks.

For a few minutes, Lance looks like he doesn't know what to say. I can see his brown eyes searching for words, as if he was skimming the page of a book. But then suddenly, something lands on his shoulder and melts. I stare at it curiously, realizing he didn't see it. And I watch as another settles, and one on the other shoulder, and then five on his head. Now he finally catches on, because I can feel icy tingles on my skin as well. "It's snowing," he mouths, no words escaping vocally. He glances to the sky and produces the biggest, most ecstatic grin I've ever seen in my life.

"Do you remember this, Pietro?" Lance asks suddenly, his brown eyes meeting back with my blues. His are dancing with joy, and mine are… well, confused.

"Remember what?"

"The snow flurries. You must remember them," he continues. I still have no idea what he's going on about. What is he saying? "You used to love to play in them, and I used to love to watch you. You always reminded me of some kind of snow fairy…"

My breath catches for a moment, but I force myself to inhale. "Lance, you're sick from the cold. Give me your keys so we can go." His eyes twinkle a bit, and he's obviously amused. I'm beginning to get a little annoyed now. He's babbling on stupidly and thinks it's funny when I suggest we get him back someplace warm. Great.

"Oh, Pietro… I missed this," he whispered, tracing his palm down the side of my face. A shiver ripples through me, brought on by the gentle touch and the flakes of snow on his glove. It's a familiar gesture, and combined with the memories of the falling snow it threatens to make me remember…

"… Wait…"

Oh god.

"… Lance, what exactly are you getting at here?" Ohgodohgodohgod…

He takes a deep breath, his chest rising underneath the new coat, a nervous smile making his lips wiggle a bit. "I'm trying to say…" he says slowly, glancing almost shyly away. "That I remember this from back at the orphanage. I remember watching you play in the snow, and I remember holding you by the fire and… Pietro, are you okay?"

No, I'm not okay. I jerk away from him as if he were a viper who'd just struck. No, I'm not okay, nothing is okay. My hands are wringing, quickly, tightly, causing blood to flow back into them painfully. No, no, this is all wrong. What the hell is this? A joke? "You're not the boy at the orphanage!" I yell quickly, my words bouncing off the snow loudly. "You're not!"

"And you're not the boy I knew," he replies. I quickly pin my venomous glare on his face. Why is he fucking with me? "Pietro from St. Anne's was a sweet, generous little boy who was happiest around someone who loved him. But you aren't him now. You're bitter, pining, and lonely. And you're too busy wrapped up in yourself to recognize that the one who loved you most was with you the entire time. What happened to you, Pietro? Why have you changed so much?"

"I just hate the holidays, okay?" I grumble, but really I'm not interested in that. What I'm interested in is… "Why didn't you tell me this before?! Why NOW?!" I'm yelling now, and my fists are clenching. I must look like a madman, I realize with distaste.

"I always thought you knew," Lance returns with a small shrug. "I didn't really notice that you didn't until around this time. You completely detached from me and started living in the past. It was so obvious from the way you kept staring off and clinging to Monnie and stuff. You were pining for Dominic Petros. Well, merry Christmas, Pietro. Here he is." As if he were a box I had unwrapped, he opens his arms to me.

The wind is picking up and throwing the snow around us, biting skin, whipping flesh. And still he stands there, arms wide, waiting for my response. I think I realize just then how stupid I had been. The suspicions, the familiar looks he'd give me, his ritual of petting Monnie, his similarities… they were all there in front of my eyes, calling to me, trying to get me to recognize them. But I never did. Why? Was I too busy feeling guilty for supposedly getting together with someone else? How stupid of me; they were the same people the entire time.

Whether it's the realization or the stinging snow, my eyes begin to water. It burns for a moment before I blink it away; I feel the distinct feeling of snowflakes on my lashes. Finally, my eyes, coated with tears and melting ice crystals, set firmly on Lance's. They're so strong, so sure, so confident… and so full of love. God, those are the same eyes. I see it now. After all these years, I see them now.

With a weak sob, I descend into his arms and just bask in the feeling of being crushed against his strong body. His arms clamp around my sides and back and practically smother me into his torso. But it's completely welcome. Because once again, I'm ten years old, clinging to Dominic's embrace, come snow or tickling fires. And I'm crying. God, am I crying.

"I found you," I hear myself whisper over and over again, even as he ducks down to cover my face in kisses. "I finally found you again, like I promised, oh Lance." His skin is melting the ice from mine, nourishing it, tending to it. I've never felt so warm, even as the wind continued to throw a tornado of flakes around our bodies.

"You have, Pietro, just like you promised," he replies, lips forming words against mine. "No one's taking you from me ever again, I swear."

It is the end of December, in a park blurred by swirling white. I met the love of my life when I was ten years old; and found him again, completing my promise.

And now he has one to keep to me.

*****

Reviews definitely required.


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